In My Own Skin
by Chiara Alice Vargas
Summary: Arthur finds himself constantly bothered by a college freshman. He gets annoyed, because the freshman acts as if they are good friends, when really, they aren't! They live in two separate worlds; he's a football player-slash-Aviation-major and he's just a student majoring in Literature. But really, the underclassman teaches him some life lessons, even if he doesn't know it. USUK AU
1. Prologue

**In My Own Skin**  
**A USUK fanfic**  
**Rated M**  
**Warnings:** _Arthur's POV, Human/College AU, inaccurate education system?_

* * *

**Prologue**

* * *

I observed the university football team practice on the field. Football. The word irks me so much. What I see as football, they call "soccer", seeing as there can only be one "football" in the U.S. of A.

Ah, the problems of being English.

It was a nice afternoon out, one of those rare days when the weather was fine and it was the perfect day for almost everything. I wonder how many days are actually like this in a year. Shame it isn't much.

I was taking a break from studying. College proved to be quite a challenge for me, despite me being quite studious and worrisome about my GPA. I still had a few awful studying habits that I need to kill.

I idly watched them run along, across the field, back and forth. I was here an hour and a half ago, and the football team arrived forty-five minutes ago, so I suppose it wasn't like I followed them here on purpose. No, I honestly wasn't trying to see anyone, really.

"Hey Art!" One of the jocks called out to me from the field, looking towards my general direction as he ran to the other side. I scowled a bit. There was no mistaking it, from the number '50' on his torso, to the voice. He was so boisterous that all the Arts, Arties and Arthurs in the world would have probably turned their heads in response when he called me.

I hid my face in my hands, in hopes of no one noticing my mortification. I do hope no one was nearby to concur that the star football player called me as if we were pals.

Me, who was so unnoticeable and so unlikely to befriend a jock.

Me, who was sitting on that bench, taking a break from my notes about Louisa May Alcott.

Only God knows what made him start pestering me, and when he'll stop.

* * *

It's been exactly two weeks since. Nine thirty in the morning. September 18, 2012. A Tuesday. He parked his car in the school carpark, practically jumping out of the vehicle the moment the engine stopped. It didn't take Einstein to figure out he was running late.

I leaned against the car, watching him with a bored expression. I was already late for my first period which started at 8:20. I decided not to bother coming in late so I hung around the carpark, cigarette between my fingers. It was just my misfortune that he happened to see me behind some bastard's car.

"You late as well?" He quirked a brow, approaching me.

"I think so." I replied curtly. "If I wasn't, then I wouldn't be wasting time here, feeding my vices."

"Unless you're deliberately cutting classes?"

"Cutting classes, yes. Deliberately, no."

I puffed out some smoke and he shrugged. Then he proceeded to make small talk, like, what my major was, and, if I'm in any clubs, how old was I, so on and so forth. Just when I thought it wouldn't end, the bell rang, signaling the end of first period and the five-minute transition before the second period. I had to leave, and that was that. Or so I thought.

* * *

**A/N:** I am so sorry for making another fanfic, piling this up among the list of fanfics that'll take me forever to update. Ahahahaha. /sobs


	2. Chapter 1

**In My Own Skin**  
**A USUK fanfic**  
**Rated M**  
**Warnings: **_Arthur's POV, Human/College AU, inaccurate education system?_

* * *

**Chapter 1**

* * *

He was sweaty, he smelled kinda funky and he was panting whilst trying to catch his breath. His face had this grin on it, which annoyed me even more. He immediately headed up here after his practice, much to my chagrin. I hoped it wouldn't take long.

I wished he just stayed on the field instead of wasting his time up here on the bleachers to drink some Gatorade and bother me.

"Hey, Arthur."

"Yes?" I looked up. I pretended I was studying, in the (futile) hopes of deterring him from talking to me. I guess he didn't get the message.

"Do you wanna hang out with me and my friends later?" He asked. Friends, meaning more football guys.

"I'm studying." I said, gesturing towards my lap where my notes were.

"Uh-huh." He raised a golden brow. I can't help but notice how his eyes were so brilliantly blue in the sunlight.

I sighed. There was just no way to make him leave me alone. Why does he even bother to... bother me?

"Come on. You barely have friends, much less a social life. It'll be fun." He nudged me, and I grumbled a bit. Well, I never asked for his opinion on what my so-called non-existent social life needed.

But just for the sake of making him leave me alone. "All right, all right. Where are we going?"

"Local diner, nothing fancy. Just wanna grab a bite with the bros."

I reluctantly agreed and he excused himself to take a shower because even he knew he smelled weird. I moved down to the lowest row of seats nearer the locker room and waited for him to finish. He came out in a blue and white letterman jacket, a shirt that said "50% Stars, 13% Stripes and 100% American" (bloody Americans and their ridiculously patriotic apparel) and jeans with blue sneakers. At least now he smelled fresh.

"Come on, the other guys are waiting for us." He called to me. I stood up and walked towards him. I kept my mouth shut the entire time, nodding politely or answering in clipped tones only if I had to.

He introduced me to his friends Jace, Paul, and Mathias. I only nodded politely with an awkward smile in response. We went to eat, and though I insisted on paying for myself, the bleeding Yank was stubborn and wouldn't let me do so.

Whatever his definition of fun was, it was definitely screwed, because I most certainly didn't have fun. I kept quiet the entire time, because 90% of the time, I didn't even know what they were talking about, and the 10%, I didn't even bother to get myself involved in conversation.

I said goodbye with a bit more enthusiasm than necessary, and went home. I was glad that it was all over.

* * *

Let me tell you about this American jock star-football player in my university who's been bothering me for the past two weeks.

His name is Alfred F. Jones, the F. stands for Franklin. He is in his freshman year and has been in the varsity since his high school days. He has a scholarship supported by his grades and his football-playing. His major is Aviation, which is something I didn't expect. He's 19 years old. He's somewhere around 177 cm. tall or 5'10". He has honey blonde hair and blue eyes, as blue as sapphires.

He's nice, I suppose. Somewhat cocky, but nice. Friendly. Sometimes obnoxious. He likes to eat a lot, and to listen to music. He exercises a lot in addition to football so he maintains his physique despite being an insufferable glutton for fast food. He shovels fries down his throat like there's no tomorrow and he downs it all with coke. Burgers are a staple. He likes sandwiches a lot, and he's okay with vegetables. He likes lettuce, tomatoes and pickles. Also potatoes. He doesn't like carrots or beans or cucumbers. He has a pet dog named "Liberty" and a pet cat named "Hero". His pets like each other, apparently. I remember him telling me about other things, but I don't remember what they precisely were.

He's really loquacious, I could tell you that much. He told me all of that information in one sitting. He makes me come with him to McDonalds or Wendy's a lot after school or between classes, and I could barely get a word in with the speed of his talking. Not that I have anything to say, anyway.

I've grown to expect his company, or, like, I've developed this sixth sense when he's near and when he's planning to approach me. Most of the time, it bothers me but sometimes I'm grateful he's there to help me kill time. Only sometimes.

* * *

I woke up the next morning. I didn't have any classes for that day. I slept in until around eleven in the morning until my mother had to come into my room and lovingly kick me out of bed.

By lovingly, I mean: "Rise and shine, sweetie! Just because it's your day off doesn't mean you can skip breakfast and lie down all day. Get up!" Then she brutally yanked my covers away, forcing me to get up. The lady's strong, I tell you. She looks like a prim and proper lady but she packs a punch. I suppose that's one of the things dad liked about her.

I sluggishly walked downstairs and sat at the breakfast table. "Morning, Art." My stepfather, Alec, nodded his head in greeting from the head of the table. He only had a mug filled with black coffee in front of him. Me and my eldest brother, Alastair, were the last ones to arrive on the table, or so it seemed. The bread and strawberry jam sat in the middle of the table, and Mum poured us some tea. Alastair just woke up, and as usual, didn't greet anyone.

"Your brothers are out for the day. They went to go biking around the village." Mum said to no one in particular, but at the same time, it was obviously addressed to the both of us. I didn't see why we had to know, it's not like either of us will try and look for them, anyway.

Mum sat down in front of me as I ate my breakfast without much enthusiasm. Bread seemed to be the staple in this house, and frankly, one can get tired of consuming the same thing every day for breakfast.

She perked up. "By the way, I've made a lovely friend at the knitting circle I'm in." Mum joined one of those knitting circle things last month, and so far, she's been enjoying it. She couldn't talk about anything else! "I met this nice lady whose name was Mrs. Mary Jones. She gave me some red yarn when mine ran out in the middle of a jumper." I sure do hope I won't be the unfortunate, future owner of the aforementioned jumper.

"That's nice." I nodded politely.

"Her son studies in the same university as you! His name is Alfred. Perhaps you know him?" She asked innocently, and I almost spat out my bread. How many Joneses are there in this village, anyway? I hope there were at least five families, to lessen the chances of what I am dreading actually happening.

"R-really, now?" I swallowed nervously. No doubt about it — it was Alfred. That Alfred.

Mum clapped her hands together and beamed. "Oh, that's jolly good! We could invite them for some afternoon tea!"

I didn't respond, I was too choked up in the thought of that annoying prat actually showing up in my premises. But who am I to say no? This is her house, not mine.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Alastair stand up and went to the kitchen sink to start washing his own plate.

"So, does four o'clock sound all right to you? Mary is free anytime, so she says. I could introduce you to her and vice versa. And her son, too!"

I was, much to my chagrin, forced to say, "Yes, Mum, that'd be lovely."

I gave her a clipped smile and stood up, left as quickly as I can with my plate in hand.

* * *

The doorbell rang, and I could hear my mother coming down the stairs, calling me to go down with her. Oh, lovely. It must be the Joneses.

I went down, although I clearly was not in a hurry. When I got to the front door to meet our guests, Mum grabbed me by the elbow and yanked me to get me in the guests' view.

"Hello, Mary. And you must be Alfred! My, what a fine, young lad." Mum seemed pleased with Alfred, and what mum wouldn't be? He's tall, toned, tanned, has good stature and physique, and he's got a positive smile. A mother's dream child. As opposed to me who's pale, gangly, and somewhat-awkward.

Wait, forget I said all those compliments.

"Hello, Britanny!" Mrs. Jones beamed. "Thank you for inviting us to tea! You must be Arthur, hello!" She added, giving me a small, cheery wave.

"Hello." I nodded and smiled a bit, just for show.

"Hey, Artie! So you're Mrs. Kirkland's son! Funny how our moms are friends." Alfred grinned at me as well. I felt a twinge of annoyance, but I let it subside. "Small world, huh, mom?" He remarked to his mother.

"Indeed it is!" Then the three of them laughed, as if they've known each other forever.

"Hello, Alfred." I replied curtly.

Mum came to her senses, at last. "Oh, goodness me, I'm such an awful hostess! Come in, come in, I've kept you two out for far too long; tea's all ready, so please do sit down!" She ushered the pair onto the sitting room's couches, where steaming tea awaited them on the coffee table (oh, look, a paradox).

"Do you drink tea, Alfred?" I asked him skeptically, haughtily raising an eyebrow.

"Y-yeaaah... No, not really." He shook his head.

"Is that so? Oh, tut tut, I'm sorry dear! I'll get some coffee ready for you." She disappeared into the kitchen quicker than Alfred could protest politely.

She came back with the coffee and Alfred thanked her gratefully before taking a sip.

I soon discovered that Mrs. Jones was, if it was even possible, more talkative than Alfred. She would keep the ball rolling, and the ball rolled too fast, I could barely keep track of it. I just stared blankly, even after Mum subtly (but painfully) pinched my arm.

Afterwards, Mum gave up, seeing as even Alfred had a hard time following. Mum was always exceptionally amazing at social situations and so, she was the only one able to keep up with Mrs. Jones' mouth speed of 200 words per minute.

"Alfred, Arthur, you two may go upstairs, find something entertaining to do. Run along now — me and Mary will continue our tea time."

I wasn't particularly glad that Mum sent us away, but I was relieved that I could stop pretending to be interested in what Mrs. Jones was babbling about. But I wasn't quite happy with being sent off with Alfred, of all people. Upstairs and alone, where he'll bother me more.

"Sorry about my mom, she's just really energetic around other people." Alfred chuckled awkwardly when we both got inside my room and I had closed the door.

"Oh, it's quite all right."

Alfred sat himself at the foot of my bed, even though I didn't tell him to do so. It irked me, but I couldn't really do anything because it'd be rude if I didn't allow him to sit there.

I sat on my swivelling office chair just so I could avoid sitting next to him.

"So, whatcha got here?" He looked around my room, curiosity readable in his expression. There wasn't anything "me" in my room, really. I kept my love for punk music and conversely, my love for stuffed animals, hidden from my family by not showcasing them in my room. I'm quite partial towards unicorns, if you must know.

Wow, I'm one odd teenager.

My room had cream-coloured walls, a faux-wooden bookshelf against the wall where the door was, a study desk on the other wall, and my bed against the other wall with the window. I had a laptop, a lot of books (from classics to romance to mystery and whatnot), and an end table with a lamp and a beige carpet. But that's about it, really. When you look at it, my room's quite... bare.

"Wow, you've got a lot of books. Have you read all of these?"

"Of course I have." I frowned at him for even asking such a silly question.

"You study Literature, right?" He cocked his head to the side.

I nodded. I remember the day I told my family over the dinner table that I'll be choosing Literature as my major in college.

Mum:Oh, that's lovely, Arthur! I knew you always had this unconditional love for all sorts of literature.

Stepfather:That's all good, but what do you plan to do with this course? Like, a job or something after you graduate?

Alastair:I knew you'd choose something as impractical as that. It'll be the hard lesson for you afterwards.

Connor:Only poofters take up Literature for college. Oh, well, no surprise there. Is Artie coming out to us now?

(raucous laughter from everyone around the table except my mum)

Rhys: Good for you, I guess. Whatever you're good at, I suppose. (shrugs)

Well, at least Rhys and Mum were happy for me. I think.

Silence.

"Hey, why don't you consider selling some of your books so you'll have room for more? I mean, you've read all of them, so..." He suddenly asked, and I turned to him in horror, snapping back to reality.

I countered, "But surely, I could buy a new shelf, right? I don't want to sell my books!" The mere idea offended me!

"That's space-consuming. You can't keep on piling your bookshelves forever, y'know. You'd hafta sell something one day. 'Sides, you'll get money out of it." Alfred shrugged.

I'll have to admit, I'm quite attached to my books. I can't stomach the idea of letting them go, really. Even at the prospect of money and more book-space.

"I don't know. Maybe I'll consider it." I politely replied, feeling a bit upset over the thought. Of course I won't consider it, God, what a stupid idea! I'd never let anyone else so undeserving have my copy of Shakespeare's "Hamlet", which I have ever-so-lovingly taken care of and preserved in its years of glory. I hope he'd drop the subject.

"Whatever you say." He shrugged.

I frowned at him deeply, glaring at him with utter disdain. It turned awkward for a few minutes, until he finally felt self-conscious (it was written all over his face) that he asked why I was staring.

"Why're you starin'? Is there something on my face?"

"No, and if there was, I would have told you. Or maybe not, since that'd be a good chance to humiliate you."

"Ouch." He looked at me, mock-hurt in his tone. "Well, why then?"

"You're peculiar." I leaned back onto my swivel chair, placing my leg over the other thigh.

He chuckled, looking taken aback. "'Scuse me?"

I scoffed. I can't keep it in much longer; I have to say something about this matter. "You act as if we're the best of friends, you constantly bother me about everything, you force me to socialise with your football chums when all they do is make me the butt of all jokes, and also, we hardly know each other. We just met two weeks ago, and now you act as if we've known each other forever!"

Alfred laughed. He didn't look the least offended by what I just said. Is he that daft or is he really just that easy-going?

"I'm sorry about my friends, they're just really like that. They don't mean anything personal, really. And as for me... I'm sorry too. In all honesty, though, my best friend is Matthew and not you, and if I have known you since forever, then I wouldn't try and get to know you each time I can, right?" Alfred beamed at me. He's such a child. I clicked my tongue at him.

"Either way, you're still annoying."

Somebody knocked on the door, and I stood up to answer it. Mum stood outside, holding a tray of cookies that miraculously, are not burnt to ashes at all. She also had two glasses of orange juice on the tray.

"You baked a batch of cookies without setting half of the town on fire?" I asked incredulously.

"You're lucky I am holding this tray or else I would have slapped the back of your head for being stupid and tactless at the same time." My mum smiled, but her words didn't really convey that feeling. She told me they were cookies from Alfred's mum.

She left us again and I closed the door, closing it shut with my foot. Alfred went over to me and helped me place the tray on the side of my study table. I sat back down and helped myself to a cookie. "Oh, this is tasty." I haven't had such scrumptious cookies in such a long while; after all, how could I, when my mum is Brittanny Kirkland, one who burns the entire town after attempting chicken noodle soup? I don't understand how it is scientifically possible to burn liquids but there you go.

"Heh, Mom makes the best cookies." Alfred said pridefully.

"I'll give her credit for that, yes."

We made more idle small talk, and polished off the plate in no time. Time flew by and Alfred had to go back home with his Mom. I was quite upset to see him go, but I didn't tell him that. Being in other people's presence is nice too, I suppose. It gets really lonely when it's taken away from you after you've gotten used to it.

Alfred said he'll see me tomorrow at school before he left. I hope I don't, though. I'm fearing for myself now, and having Alfred around me isn't going to help.

* * *

**A/N:** Whooaoaaoaaoao cliffhanger. By the way, Brittany Kirkland's name is a play on Britannia, and how Britain used to be called Britannia back in the Roman days, and so, Arthur's mum is Mama Britannia. Heh. Am I clever or what? /shot

_Alastair_ - Scotland, obviously. Portrayed as a 'tough-love' kind of brother in this fic. Not necessarily a huge dick. Around twenty-six years old.

_Connor_ - Ireland (or specifically, Northern Ireland for the U.K. brothers). He is portrayed somewhat like the Weasley twins, Fred and George. Very mischievous but caring when it is needed. Twenty-four years of age.

_Rhys_ - Wales. Portrayed as a quiet man who doesn't really like to get into fights. He's the one Arthur gets along with the most, only for the fact that he doesn't cause so much trouble for him. Twenty-one.

I will type up character sheets for my characters and post them on Tumblr, not just for this fic, but also for my others! It's something I love to do in my spare time, anyway. But I'm quite busy, so for now, you people'll just have to wait!


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